


flames to embers

by atlantisairlock



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, And Now For Something Completely Different, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Other, Peripheral Characters, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts, and then for agonizing moments the Kingsmen really think the world is doomed. Or, what happens after they save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flames to embers

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'innocent' by taylor swift.

It starts, and then for agonising moments the Kingsmen really think the world is doomed. 

Perth. Taipei. Sochi. Ho Chi Minh. Kerala. Rio de Janeiro. Singapore. Beijing. Amsterdam. Johannesburg. Norway. Hell,  _Antartica._ You name it, Valentine's savage SIM cards have wormed their way in and infected the population. The chaos is historical, on a scale so massive that scientists would probably have ruled it impossible if it hadn't actually happened. 

For all of that artful dodging required so he wouldn't get decapitated by Gazelle's creepy feet weapons, Eggsy's certain that Valentine's hand couldn't have been on the table for anything over ten minutes. Merlin affirms that. But within the span of that short time, before Eggsy got him through the heart... the casualties already rack up into the range of millions. Infrastructure is destroyed. Entire towns are in shambles. People are dead.

The world's been saved. But not really, not yet.

 

 

**T+00.02.00**

In the outskirts of London, the howl of a little girl carries. Her mother tries desperately to comfort her, despite the tears streaking down her own cheeks. No child should have blood on her hands, but she does.

She screams, kicking and flailing as her father drags her away from the limp frame lying on the ragged, patchy lawn, still uncomprehending of the devastation wreaked upon the earth. 

The little dog's body lies still on the ground, unmoving.

 

 

**T+00.30.00**

In the suburbs of Hong Kong, a few volunteer-driven makeshift rescue missions have been cobbled together after the citizens realise that the government is as much in shambles as their city is. Predictably, they can't rely on the bureaucracy to save the unfortunates who happen to be trapped under debris. Along a stretch of road, everyone is pitching in to lift rubble, pull survivors to safety, treat wounds, pull sheets over corpses, the like.

The stench of death and horror-struck bewilderment hangs in the air. But there will be time to shatter, later, they know. 

For now, they have to push on.

 

 

**T+00.40.00**

Right outside a bakery in Sydney, a young man wakes up from unconsciousness to find himself still pinning someone by the throat. Their skull has been bashed in to the point where their facial features are no longer recognisable, shirt stiff with blood. 

It takes a moment for him to realise that there's a golf club in his hand, bent out of shape and sticky red. 

The sound he makes is decidedly not human, and though he can't see the face of the person he killed, he knows they will haunt his dreams forever.

 

 

**T+2.00.15.00**

In one of the many morgues located in Munich, a man stands over a table with a scream stuck fast in his throat. 

"Sir. Is this your daughter's body?"

 _Daughter's body,_ not even  _your daughter,_ he thinks. His little girl. His princess. The light of his life, his only baby. While he was grappling with his colleague in the office, lunging for her throat, his wife got their child in a chokehold and tossed her off the roof of their flat.

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

 _Yes,_ and then - "Thank you for identifying her. We'll be in touch as soon as possible."

 

 

**T+7.08.35.00**

In a cemetery in Tokyo, a girl kneels by a headstone and places a single fresh lily on top of the freshly-laid soil. She can't be more than twenty, but there's a haunted weariness in her eyes that speaks of agony beyond her years. 

He was just a boy - or not. He was her best friend. Stronger than her, even. Only at that moment, _she_  had the gun in her hand.

She does not cry. There are no tears left to spend. This is not the way they both planned to die.

For one, it should have been  _together._

 

 

**T+15.13.50.00**

In the garden of a two-story house in Bangkok, two siblings watch the clouds roll past and do not close their eyes, even when the sunlight streams through the canopy of fluffy white. For if they  _do,_ they know they'll see faces behind their eyelids. 

As of now, the general worldwide consensus is that nobody ought to be charged of crimes committed under the influence of Valentine's mind-control. And thus the same question lingers in their mind - how do they possibly grapple for some sort of absolution? How can they be adequately punished for the brutal murder of five of the people they loved most? How can they have  _gotten away_ with killing their parents, grandparents, and precious, defenceless younger sister?

The guilt lingers, heavy and sour on their tongues.

 

 

**T+23.05.05.00**

In a relatively unscathed counselling office in Seoul, she lies on the couch and tries not to meet the eyes of her counsellor. Their hands are both stained with blood, she knows, but it's more than she can possibly bear; to look into a gaze as broken as hers. 

"It's coming back to me... in snatches. I wake up screaming." She pauses, trying to keep her breathing even. "I... dream of her. And I can feel her grabbing at my wrist... trying to stop me from stabbing her, over and over again..." She trails off, nails digging into the plush fabric of the sofa. The hot tears are beginning to prick at her eyes, all-too-familiar. "I loved her," she says, and she's briefly aware of the counsellor passing over a tissue box. "And I  _killed her._ "

The wave of fresh tears is almost welcome.

 

 

**T+30.22.40.00**

Along a street in Queenstown, a family of four stands back and cautiously surveys their home. Or what there is of it, still in Phase Two of their plan to bring their house back to its original glory - or at least get it _standing_ again. The second and third floors aren't even  _there_ yet, just a skeleton framework to be built upon. They're surviving all right spending their nights in the spacious garage, thankful that they didn't completely wreck the kitchen and first-floor bathroom in their frenzied bloodbath. Nobody died, thank God, although they all suffered a myriad of injuries. They are the luckier ones, they know. They just have to rebuild their home. Some people are rebuilding their entire lives, complete with people-shaped holes that nobody could ever fill. 

They gather in a brief group hug, before they return to their individual tasks. 

 

 

**T+31.00.00.00**

And amidst the grief and horror... the human race as a whole does the only thing they know how to do in the face of tragedy. 

As does life - they move on. 

 

\---

 

Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin saved the world - because, well, let's be real here, if not for Roxy sending the missile into Valentine's satellite and Merlin setting off the chips, Eggsy knows for sure that he, along with practically the entire world, would be dead as a fucking doornail. But after the initial glitz and glamour, when all that's left is bodies to bury and homes to rebuild, mankind is saving itself. 

"So here's where you went wrong, Valentine," Eggsy whispers softly to himself as he watches his little sister giggling and playing with JB in their living room, dog and child alike rolling around on the fluffy carpeting. "Human beings aren't just a virus to be wiped out, or animals to be culled, like you thought. We're human, and we have the capacity to love, to grieve... to heal. Whether it be ourselves, or the world."

He smiles to himself as he turns to his Kingsman-issue laptop, checking in on a few screens. The UN peace talks are going smoothly, as evidenced by the closed-circuit feed. They're keeping an eye on some non-extreme sustainability-related projects funded by Valentine's ill-gotten gains - Eggsy himself has taken an interest in a proposal involving environmentally-friendly  _flying cars_  that he very much hopes will find their way into the Kingsman vehicular lineup.

And then there's another notification popping up on the desktop, politely informing him that Roxy is _PISSED THAT YOU HAVEN'T RETURNED THE LEASH I LENT YOU OVER A WEEK AGO, YOU ABSOLUTE DICKHEAD, EGGSY, WHAT KINGSMAN WORTH HIS BESPOKE SUIT BREAKS A PROMISE HE SWORE UPON HIS SIGNET RING?_  Oh. Hmm. Perhaps he ought to attend to that message right about now. Eggsy's fingers skim across the keyboard as he replies, and he can't help but grin.

It's a month on, and the world is still reeling from Valentine's insidious plot. They're all still picking up the pieces of what very nearly was mass genocide across the entire planet. But they will recover, and they will learn, and they will grow, Eggsy's sure. They build each other up, as fellow men. As... Kingsmen.

For, he muses, isn't everyone a little bit of a Kingsman at heart?

Even if they forgot about the leash. Shut _up_ , Roxy.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i'm not particularly familiar with rituals concerning death and deceased loved ones in any of the locations i referred to, so i tried to make them as generic as possible. if i've overstepped or gone grievously wrong in any sense, please feel free to inform me!


End file.
